Problems and Poetry
by kaz456
Summary: A simple project prompts a difficult question.


**AN:** This is an old, old story that I'm only posting now because it's been forever since I updated _The End _(working on it, I promise). Anyway, I tried to do something lighthearted but with a somewhat difficult concept, and I tried to use two not-normally-paired-together characters for a scene/line that I think was important to the ending of the series. Because I'm not sure if I pulled it off, I would really appreciate reviews.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Animorphs, or the history channel, or Langston Hughes, or any of the (bad) jokes.

* * *

This was stupid, and a bad idea, and there were approximately five thousand reasons for why I should never have done this.

"No really, Rachel, listen. This one's better, I promise. Okay, so there are two muffins in an oven…"

English class, poetry project, partners. I knew the way things usually went: Marco and Jake together, Cassie and me together. However, after a quick examination of where Cassie and Jake's relationship was going (i.e., nowhere), I had snagged Marco as a partner, which therefore forced my cousin and best friend to work on the project together.

I had perfectly legitimate reasons. This was a project that took place entirely outside of class, which meant that Cassie and Jake would be forced to spend a lot of time alone, together, away from the school. I mean, really, could things get any more perfect? It was a flawless plan.

…Except, of course, for the small detail that I had overlooked when I made Marco be my partner.

That detail, of course, was that Marco was now my partner.

We had gotten past the initial egotistical comments ("Of course you want to be my partner, Rachel. Who doesn't?"), the unnecessary remarks ("Are you sure Bird-boy won't get jealous?"), the overall idiotic statements ("So what project are we doing, again?"), and the singing, which I hadn't even predicted ("Rachel rachel bo bachel banana fana fo fachel…"), and now we had moved on to something infinitely worse: the lame jokes.

"And the first muffin turns to the second muffin and goes, 'Man, it's hot in here.'"

I gritted my teeth and convinced myself not to throttle him. "Marco. I. Do. Not. Care. Do you understand me?"

"Wait, Rachel, lemme just finish the joke. So the second muffin turns to the first muffin and says—"

"Shut up!"

"No, he says 'Holy crap, a talking muffin!" Marco waited expectantly. "Come on, Rachel, don't tell me that you don't get it. Should I say it again? Okay, so there's—"

"_I get it_, Marco. And congratulations, because not only have you wasted my time by telling me the stupidest and most pointless joke ever, you have also managed to tell the world's most unfunny joke ever at the same time!"

A look of mock-hurt crossed Marco's face. He started to talk, but I cut him off. "Why don't you do both of us a favor and shut up before I hit you?"

"Rachel, have you ever considered anger manage—"

"ARGH!" I stood up from my chair and Marco cowered. Much better. I gave him the iciest glare I could muster and said, "I am going to go look up information on Langston Hughes. You are going to look through this book—" I picked up the thick book of Langston Hughes poems and dumped it onto his lap, ignoring his wince of pain. "—and find a good poem. Okay?" I finished in a tone that implied that this wasn't really a question and sat down at my computer.

I hadn't been searching for more than fifteen minutes when I realized that Marco wasn't in the room anymore. Yeah, Marco wasn't in the room, but the Langston Hughes book of poems was. Which could only mean that Marco was…

"Watching TV?" I raged. "I've been working while you've been out here, watching television?"

Marco shrugged and grinned from his position on my couch, in the living room. "Seems like a fair deal to me."

"Do you have any idea how much I want to hurt you right now?"

"Yeah, I think." He stretched out and yawned. "Come on, Rachel, chill out. It's not like I'm _really_ not working. Look, I'm watching the history channel." He gestured lazily to the television. "Besides, we needed a break."

"We haven't even started!" The little shrimp really was grinding my last nerve. "And watching the history channel does _not _constitute as working."

"Sure it does. I'm learning about some of the fighting strategies for the Vietnam War."

I was about to open my mouth to complain, but it actually was kind of cool. Instead of saying anything, I sat down next to Marco and ignored the smug looks he was sending my way.

"_In the end, there's nothin' you can do about it," _An old general was proclaiming on the screen. _"I used to tell some of them younger ones, there ain't nothin' you can do about it. People die in a war. You just gotta let 'em go and grieve 'em when it's over." _

"Sucks," Marco remarked.

I shrugged. "Yeah, it does, but it's true. I mean, it's a war, people die. It's sad and all, but you gotta get past it."

Marco gave me an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me? How can you say that?"

"What do you mean? I'm not trying to be sadistic or anything. I'm just saying the truth," I argued.

Marco switched off the TV and shook his head. He glared at me. "Maybe you should think about some of the things you say, Rachel."

I glared right back at him. "What are you so pissed about? Don't like accepting that in wars people die?"

"I can accept that just fine," He retorted, his tone acidic. "But think about it, Rachel. Is that what you would say if—" He lowered his voice even though we were the only ones in my house. "If one of us died?"

I glared back at him. "Maybe."

"Maybe? Maybe?!" Marco stood up, and his eyes were blazing. "Oh yeah, it's easy to say that now, Rachel. But how about when it really happens? How willing will you be to keep on fighting if Cassie drops dead in the middle of a battle, or if someone slices Tobias up?"

"Shut _up_." I stood up too, facing him angrily.

"Or when Ax takes on one too many Hork-Bajir, or when Jake becomes all self-sacrificing and gets killed because of it, or even if I get cut up by some Yeerk?"

"That's _different_," I told him through clenched teeth.

"No, it's exactly the same. If one of us died, would you say that it was just another casualty of war, because 'in wars people die?'" At my silence, the anger seemed to seep out of Marco, replaced by bitterness. "Oh, God. You would. Wouldn't you, Rachel? If one of us died, you'd go on fighting."

He was wrong. I wouldn't, I couldn't. I wasn't a heartless killer. If Cassie or Tobias or Ax or Jake or Marco…died, I wouldn't brush it off as another casualty. I couldn't. But that wasn't what I told Marco.

"IfI died," I told Marco evenly, "I would want everyone else to go on."

He looked me in the eyes, and I stared right back. There it was, out in the open.

He glanced away first. He ran his hands through his hair, chuckled a little bit tensely. "Okay, Rachel. Don't worry. If you die, I won't cry."

I smiled at him. For all his idiocy, Marco could be okay sometimes. He understood things well. And we had something in common, both of us, and though he had been kidding, I saw the truth in what he said.

"Same here," I told him. He grinned, a little shakily. "Doesn't matter, though," I said, just to ease him a little, because I could see that the conversation was making him uneasy. "I'll live forever."

"Well, duh, of course you will. You're Rachel. You're practically immortal." He rolled his eyes as if it was the most obvious statement ever, and I laughed. His smile was real, and it was strange that in the midst of such an uncomfortable subject, we had managed to discover some strange form of solidarity.

"Langston Hughes," I reminded him, because I could only take so much of the almost-touchy-feely stuff.

He groaned. "Can't we take another break?"

"No."

"Well, at least let me tell you my poet joke." He followed me back up the stairs and to the computer room.

"Let me guess…you're a poet and you don't know it."

"But my feet show it, because I'm a long fellow!"

I shook my head, amused and disgusted. "That was bad, even for you, Marco."


End file.
